Struck
by Fullmetal-Tora
Summary: The lights from the dance floor cast exotic shadows across his porcelain skin as he reclined against the windowsill, emanating silent danger. He was striking, paralyzing, predatory. I needed to see him move, move for me, with me. He was mine. Matt/Mello
1. Salient

**AN: Hello again, everyone! As promised, here it is. My first AU fic, I think... (not counting _Unbreakable_, which I'm not sure counts exactly as AU). Anywho, sorry the first chapter is so short. I think they'll get longer, but not too long. Oh, and the rating is mostly for language. Just playing it safe since I'd rather not have undue trouble because Matt has a potty mouth. **

**This was born out of my listening to the radio playing in the campus bookstore during a break between classes, at which point I was mysteriously inspired, and (expecting to be bored to tears in my coming class) I bought a little notebook and a purple pen with which to while away the next 2 or so hours in Physical Geography. If GEs are good for nothing else, at least they give me ample time to write fanfiction. In any case, this is strictly my "bored in class" fic, written entirely in purple pen because since discovering the huge variety of pens available in the bookstore, I have gained a random obsession with pretty colored ink. It's not particularly deep or amazing and is usually written between taking notes, so consider that fair warning.**

**It is lots of fun to write in an otherwise funless time, so I hope everyone enjoys it. : ) Thanks for reading!**

**~Tora**

__

* * *

I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be

_Struck by you_

It was just another one of those parties. You know, the kind where someone's friend invited the kid next to you in Chem and he just slipped you a note and everyone says there's gonna be booze and chicks and everyone's gonna have a fucking grand time. That kind of party.

Frat boys playing drinking games, whores flirting shamelessly with the sports studs, the usual.

I went for the hell of it. I mean, it's not like I had anything better to do. Not like anyone's gonna notice if I'm there, if I'm not there. Not like I need a reason anyway.

So I just went and sat kind of in the back with a bottle of beer and watched. Maybe I did it to disappoint my parents. People always say I'm so fucking brilliant and that I should do something with my life. But I really have no fucking clue.

I don't want to be brilliant. When you're smart, people have _expectations_ of you. They think you'll do something special. I really fucking _hate_ it when people have high expectations of me.

So I just sat in the back near the speakers and let the pulsing beat wrack my eardrums and drown everything out. I wasn't really looking for anything, just sitting there, probably with that kind of glazed look people get when they're staring into space.

I'm not really sure what caught my attention first. Maybe it was a flash of gold, the way the lights from the dance floor glanced off of the golden-blonde when he turned his head or the way the thick strands spread around his shoulders when he tilted his head back to take a swig of the vodka he held casually in one slender hand.

Whatever the reason, I let my eyes follow him for a moment, propping my chin up on one hand and watching discreetly out of the corner of my eye. I always wear goggles--it's kind of a weird habit, I guess--so I was sure no one could tell exactly what I was looking at.

He was sitting on the ledge by the window, near the area cleared off to be a psuedo dance floor. The window was big and set into the wall so there was an outcropping about three feet up and that's where he was, one leg up on the ledge in front of him at a slight angle and the other dangling onto the floor. He was leaning back against the glass, tucked into the corner where I never would have noticed him if it wasn't for that brilliant golden color of his hair.

That was the only bit of color to him. That and some small flash of red when the light shone on his chest right, something like beads of a necklace that gave off tiny crimson flashes when he breathed.

Everything else about him was black. Black and pale, the scattered dance lights skittering across his skin in exotic colors, beneath which the flesh was a luminous white. The guy probably never stepped into the sun from the looks of it.

His taste in clothing seemed rather eccentric too. Leather, judging from the way the way the light shimmered on it. Pulled taut against the muscles of his thigh from the way he was sitting with his legs like that, it left little to the imagination, framing his slender pale body perfectly in black.

He wore a sleeveless leather vest and when I turned my head to get a better view, I knew by the glimmer of paleness that it cut off early to reveal about two inches of pearly skin at his midriff.

Dressed like that, and he was sitting all alone.

I felt myself smirk. Poor kid. Vodka in hand, sitting there by himself in the corner and staring off into the dance floor. Seemed pretty pathetic to me. Whatever he was doing here, the guy was just--

And then he turned his head suddenly and he met my eyes. Looked right at me. Straight through the goggles and all. Looked at me and smirked slowly.

I damn near fell out of my fucking chair.

Pale blue, cold and piercing, he had the eyes of a fucking tiger. Wild. Untamable. Predatory.

He shifted fluidly, and I could see the way the well-toned muscles rippled beneath that skin tight leather. His chiding smirk stayed in place.

He watched me watch him.

Fuck. He was fucking scary.

I have no fucking idea why I smiled back condescendingly, why I took a final swig of my beer and left the bottle on the table, why I stood up, looking down at him though the orange tint that always makes up my world.

Something about him struck me though. A challenge in his eyes, his body coiled gracefully and deceptively at rest, ready to spring and strike.

The people on the dance floor moved in a hot, sweaty mess around us, swaying and jerking, lost in the rhythm that was suddenly drowned out for me in a flash of cold, silent sapphire eyes.

I took a step forward and he tilted his chin up a little, following my motion and raising a single almost invisibly blonde eyebrow in questioning, scoffing sarcasm.

His eyes were drilling a hole in my skull. One finger around the neck of the glass bottle twitched a little in my direction, beckoning. The thin curve of his pale lips was downright sadistic.

I grinned and adjusted my goggles, meeting his gaze straight on until it hurt and walking up to stand right next to him. I reached an arm up, leaning against the wall above his head and resting my weight on the forearm as I tilted my face to peer down at him.

His eyes shot up to meet mine, ice blue molten hot piercing poisonous daggers.

My grin remained plastered on my face like that of a complete imbecile.

Yeah, sometimes I'm real fucking stupid.

* * *

**Disclaimers: (Don't these usually go in the beginning...? Oh, well.) Matt and Mello do not belong to me, blah blah blah... I wish they did. : (**

**Song lyrics from _Paralyzer_ by Finger Eleven. **


	2. Snare

**AN: Ah, finally, another chapter! I'm sorry this took much longer than I meant for it to take. Final exams sort of just sneaked up on me and then it was study, study, study and staying up all night and all that fun stuff. I did well though, so that paid off. : ) In any case, after studying a lot and doing nothing but reading and writing for a very lengthy length of time (and having to work madly on cosplay during spring break), I didn't quite get around to typing this up... even though I already had it written out in a notebook. *hangs head* I know; I'm a horrible person. **

**To _Unbreakable _fans: Please try to be satiated with this for a little longer. Co-writing is apparently a very tedious thing to time out correctly when your authors have ridiculous schedules and breaks that never happen at the same time. I blame the quarter system.**

**Enjoy~ --Tora**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own Death Note. Don't own Finger Eleven or "Paralyzer." ...and I don't speak Russian, just Bulgarian, so forgive me if I get conjugate something incorrectly._**

* * *

_I wanna make you move_

_Because you're standing still_

He held my gaze. Just that. Held my gaze with those fucking deadly eyes of his and smiled. And didn't say anything.

And, of course, I didn't move. He was challenging me, silently laughing at me, daring me to turn around and leave like I should.

Hell no.

I might be lazy but I guess I have some sort of pride. Yeah, some sort of _idiotic_ pride.

So I just stood there looking down at him, looking down as if I knew I could handle this, and let a single word roll lazily past my lips, though my voice felt gruff.

"Hey."

He smiled, flashing sharp canines, looking about to strike at the jugular. So I figured I was already way too far in to back down (and I'd already decided there was no way in Hell I would anyway).

I shrugged and continued, drawling out my name. "I'm Mail. Mail Jeevas, second year."

Guess it sounded pretty dumb. He cocked an eyebrow.

I added, in an offhand kind of way. I'm a pretty offhand kind of guy, actually. "Most people call me Matt, though."

He still didn't move, the angle of his head insinuating he though I was a complete imbecile. It was really starting to grate on my nerves.

I wanted him to _do_ something. For fuck's sake, I wanted to see him _move._ The throbbing rhythm radiating from the speakers at the other end of the dance floor was pressing urgently in the back of my mind.

I wanted to see him get up, uncoil that lithe frame slowly, move toward me. Move with me. I wanted to be the one to do it, to make him move.

The thought struck me pretty damn forcefully, rather unbidden. But it was true. It surprised me a little, but it was true.

He blinked once, getting bored with me, and it was basically a yawn. God, he was so fucking good at talking with his body. My mind wandered briefly, as if to imagine what else he could do with it, but I caught my thoughts before they flew off.

I'm a pretty absentminded person, so that was quite a feat. My mind tends to just drift off on its own. But I anchored it and stared directly into his eyes, grinning. By the time he finished blinking, I had managed to sort through all that random crap floating around in my ever-wandering mind and made my decision.

I leaned closer, matching his cold smirk. "And who are you, gorgeous?"

He looked beyond exasperated, and finally shifted. Away from me. Some part of me exalted in the momentary flash of annoyance and discomfort in those icy eyes at my too-close proximity.

He leaned back against the side of the wall, twisting a little with one shoulderblade against the glass of the window so he sat now in the corner, facing me, and every muscle in his body screamed at me to go the fuck away and leave him alone.

I was getting to him. He wasn't about to intimidate me away. I was pretty damn proud of myself by that time and kept it up. "Aw, come on, what's your name?"

I gave him my most charming lopsided little grin, even going so far as to push my goggles up somewhere into that mess of red hair falling over my forehead.

He lifted his eyebrows at me, slowly raising the bottle to take a leisurely sip of his drink, index finger tapping lightly and impatiently against the glass neck. And then finally he spoke, voice surprisingly deep in comparison to his perfect effeminate features, and a certain hostile note of finality rang in his words.

"Persistent bastard, aren't you?"

There was a screaming unspoken message of _Fuck off_ at the end, but I ignored it, still grinning. "Sure am."

He saw he couldn't get rid of me any other way probably, and finally spit it out.

"Fine then, _Mattie,_" he growled venomously, surprising me a bit with the rather random attempted insult he seemed to create from my name, but this also I ignored.

"Mihael." His admission seemed to grate on his pride and he took another quick swig of vodka, probably hoping I'd walk away by the time he finished.

Naturally, I did not oblige. Really, I was practically ecstatic. I smirked slowly, cocking a single eyebrow, never taking my eyes off him. Mihael.

I cast around briefly for any knowledge I could glean from the name. Eastern European from the sound of it, I was sure. His fair features confirmed that. Eastern European, of the Slavic variety rather than the mixed of Ottoman descent. His cheekbones, the contour of his eyes, the curve of his nose.

And from the slight accent with which he pronounced his name—though he had none in any other case—I was willing to bet he was a native speaker.

My smirk widened a little. Mihael was barely bringing the bottle away from his lips, shooting me the most murderous glare yet. I widened my eyes innocently.

"Wow, that's a pretty unique name. You foreign or something?"

The derisive twist of his lips let me know exactly what the beautiful Slav thought of my deductive skills. I grinned inwardly, ready to surprise him, take away the control he thought he had, put him off balance.

Damn, this was _fun._

The Slav had said nothing, so I prompted, mispronouncing his name to the fullest extent.

"Mahaylo…?"

The blonde's face darkened, thunderous rage barely restrained behind that icy façade, lips a thin white line, and I could hear his long breaths, forcefully controlled.

I barely restrained a laugh. This guy was just too easy to mess with.

"Fuck off, dipshit."

And with that, he turned away, glowering out the window and taking another gulp of vodka. I wondered briefly how he wasn't drunk off his ass by now, but then again people from that part of the world are pretty much notorious for being able to hold their liquor, vodka, and whatever other strong shit they drink over there.

I sat on the window ledge next to him, leaning back a bit so my back brushed his thigh, raised as it was since he had his feet propped up.

The reaction wasn't quite what I'd expected. I decided it was better.

He moved instantly, one booted foot slamming into my shoulderblade, leaping from his lounging recline in less than a second, and I had to think fast to catch the fist aimed at my face a moment later. My right hand closed around it tightly though, keeping him there.

His features were livid, twisted in fury, yet never diminished in beauty. I could feel him trembling angrily, the captured hand twitching as he tried to jerk it out of my grasp. I tightened my grip and he loomed forward, snarling, other arm coming up to curl his fingers around my throat.

He was fast, but I managed to see it coming, barely catching his wrist, and the sharp sting in the side of my neck—which now accompanied the throbbing of my shoulder—let me know that his long, black-polished nails had managed to reach my skin for a moment. I decided I'd had enough, jerking him forcefully forward to land again on the window seat, this time pressed against the glass by my weight. Twisting his arms behind his lack, I pinned his with one knee pressing into the top of his right thigh, digging painfully into the soft flesh.

I was completely in control. He managed to look enraged, bewildered, and disgusted at the same time. It appeared he was unused to this sort of thing.

"_What the fuck do you want?_" he hissed.

I grinned fully, leaning in to breathe into his ear. "Dance with me, Mihael."

This time, I let the name roll flawlessly from my lips. Those cold blue eyes narrowed as he realized he'd been provoked on purpose.

"Fuck you."

I kept smiling. "Tанцуй с мной, Михаел."1

His lip curled in a sneer. "I'm not Russian, dipshit."

I nodded. "Я знаю.2 But the majority of Slavic countries in Eastern Europe require primary school children to study Russian."

I felt him shift beneath me slightly in an attempt to relieve the uncomfortable position. Deciding the sizable bruise that most likely already colored the white skin beneath all that leather was enough to remind him of my presence later, I moved my leg a bit.

"Mihael," I breathed, emulating his accent.

He snarled at me. "Don't call me that!"

I laughed in surprise, staring at him. "Isn't that your name? Or did you mean you just want me to shut up in general?"

He glared. I smirked back.

"Okay…" My smirk widened. "…Mija."

He cringed. Perhaps he knew Spanish as well. I fought the urge to laugh, limiting my self to a wide grin, and cast about for a suitably annoying nickname.

"How about… Mello?"

"Get the fuck off me."

I let one of his hands go, wrapping my arm around his waist instead, and pulling us both to our feet. His hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles whitened, but this time he made no move against me.

I guided him slowly toward the dance floor, eyeing my prize appreciatively, admiring the ripple of his muscles against my side as he walked, the shimmer of light in the golden hair swaying around his shoulders, the electric blue of his eyes as he glared ahead in a sort of resigned irritation—and perhaps a bit of intrigue.

His gaze shifted to meet mine and I grinned at the curiosity gleaming there. The cold, distant look was gone. I'd gotten his attention, and held it.

The music thrummed around us and he moved with me naturally as we walked, his step sinuous and light, in rhythm.

I let my lips curve slightly in a tiny victorious smile. He was mine.

* * *

**RUSSIAN TRANSLATION: **

**1- "Dance with me, Mihael."**

**2- "I know."**


End file.
